CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

VIOLET POV

“You have a choice,” he says as we get to the landing, and there’s something heavy in his tone. Something that gives me nervous flutters. “About where you sleep.”

      My heart thumps at the thought of sleeping with him. In his room. In his bed.

      But that’s not what he means.

      I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

      “I thought West’s room would help you relax,” he says. “But there is another room if you would prefer. A guest room.”

      He opens the door at the end of the landing.

      I step on through and it’s nice there. Nice and airy and all creams and whites. Nice and grown up.

      And boring.

      I get a horrible lurch in my belly at the thought of saying goodbye to West’s beautiful room.

      “And it’s a choice?” I ask.

      He nods.

“West’s room,” I say quickly. “I’d like to stay there please.”

      He smiles, and I see something pass across his features.

      I wonder if I’ve made the wrong call. If I should have gone for the grown up room.

      Maybe now he’ll see me as a little girl who needs looking after, and part of me wants that. Part of me wants to be his little girl.

      But another part doesn’t.

      Another part wants other things. Things that make me tingle.

      Tingle down there.

      We carry my things through to West’s room, and he opens the wardrobe. It’s empty.

      “Make yourself at home,” he says. “This room is yours, for as long as you want it.”

      I wonder again about, West. Surely she visits? How will she feel to turn up at home and find some strange girl in her bed?

      I don’t want to ask, and I don’t, just smile and start unpacking my new clothes, hanging them up so neatly on the hangers.

      He stays while I do it, sits himself down on the bed and places Ben on my pillow.

      “My bedroom is the one on the left,” he says. “Just next door.”

“Just through the wall.”

      “Yes.”

      I smile at him. “That’s nice to know.”

      I place all my new underwear in the drawer, and put my college books on the bookshelf, and the room is beginning to feel a little bit more like mine.

      I want to stay here all afternoon, forever, but Spencer has other plans.

 He cooks dinner while I sit at the table and tell him about my college studies. We eat at the dining table and he makes me eat all my carrots like a good girl.

   “You need your vitamins,” he tells me.

   I help him load up the dishwasher and I ask him about his job.

   He’s a doctor, a partner and accountant in his father’s firm. He says he’s always liked numbers. He likes the order and the control. Likes the logic of it. Likes being able to make things add up.

 He tells me he works Monday through Friday in an office in town, but that he’ll be able to drop me at college and pick me up again.

      I tell him I’ll be able to walk, that his house isn’t too far away from Brighton College, not really, but he insists.

  I get those tingles again at the thought of him dropping me at the college gates and giving me a kiss goodbye.

      “I’ll make you a packed lunch,” he says. “You’ll have to let me know what you like in your sandwiches.”

      Nobody’s ever made me sandwiches before.

      I tell him so and he looks sad. It’s that pity thing again, like Maggie Connor’s mum, and I don’t like it. I don’t want a man like Spencer to pity me. I want him to see I’m a woman, a proper woman, even if I don’t want to be one. Even if I want to be the little girl who draws him DaDDy pictures and has a packed lunch.

      “I can look after myself,” I say. “I’m an adult now.”

      “You don’t need to look after yourself. Not anymore, Violet.”

      “Still,” I say. “I can.”

      “I’m sure you can.”

      But he doesn’t look sure. He doesn’t look sure at all.

      He checks his watch and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up, just enough to see the flat ridge of his stomach, and I remember him in the shower.

 I remember how good it felt to watch him jerking off.

      “Bed time,” he says. “Early start in the morning.”

He gets me a glass of water to take upstairs, and I follow up right behind him. All I can think about is that hard muscle under his shirt, and how it would feel against my skin. How it would feel to touch him. My cheeks warm at the thought.

  I grab one of my new nightdresses and he gives me a towel. I wash myself in the same shower he used, and it gives me such a rush to put my fingers between my legs and rub myself in the same spot I watched him come.

      It makes me come too. A shuddery one that makes me gasp and press a hand to the tiles for balance.

      I wonder if his cum has been there. Right in that spot where my fingers are touching.

      I wash quickly after that, wrap my hair in a towel and slip on the nightdress while my skin is still clammy.

      The fabric is white and it clings. I catch sight of my nipples in the bathroom mirror, the dark circles so obvious. You can see my hair, too. The hair between my legs.

      And I know right then and there exactly how much I like Spencer in that way, because I’ve never wanted anyone to see me before, not like this.

      Nobody except him.

      But it feels naughty to want to be seen like this.

I move so slowly as I step out of the bathroom, listening for any sign of him. I hold my breath and close my eyes, ears straining to hear movement, and I’m so excited when I hear a door handle.

  I gulp a little breath as he steps out onto the landing, and he doesn’t see me straight away, he’s too busy fastening his dressing gown belt.

      He notices my bare feet first, and his eyes move up, up and up, so very slowly. So slowly that I feel a heat rush from my toes to my cheeks.

      He swallows when his gaze reaches the darkness between my legs, and I feel so self-conscious, so much of a stupid kid.

  Maggie Connor would literally cringe if she could see how awkward I am, but I’m doing my best. I lean against the doorframe and push my chest forwards, wishing I had some actual breasts to show him.

      I can barely bring myself to look at him, but when I do I can’t look away again.

  His eyes are dark and his breath is fast. There’s an edge to him that I haven’t seen before, something heavy and brooding. It makes my tummy tickle.

 For the tiniest second I believe he wants me. Wants me like that, and my heart jumps, jumps and races away.

“Thanks for the nightdress,” I say. “It’s really nice.”

      His voice comes out raspy. “It looks beautiful on you, Violet.”

      I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want him to touch me right now.

      “You should get to bed,” he says. “Get a decent night’s sleep.”

      I nod but don’t move, and he comes closer.

      I can smell him. Rich and musky.

      A proper man.

      He brushes by me on his way into the bathroom, and my nipples catch on his robe.

      It sends sparks all the way down between my legs, and I press my thighs together, stare up at him as I gasp a little breath.

      He stays so still, and so do I.

      I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I can feel his breath against my forehead.

      It’s so easy to tip my face up to his, and I want it so much. I want him to kiss me so much.

      “You need to get to bed,” he says, and his voice is strained. “Right now, Violet.”

      I meet his eyes, and I want it. I want all of it.

      I want him to be my first.        

I want him to be the one.

His eyes are hooded and his jaw is tight, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t move a muscle.

      “Please, Violet,” he says, and there’s a desperation to it. “Please go to bed… like a good girl.”

      Like a good girl.

I want to be bad for him.

      I want that, too.

      I want to be a bad and good girl for Spencer.

      His fingers brush my arm and it makes me tremble.

      “Go,” he says and his voice is serious this time. “You need to go.”

      But I can’t move an inch.